


yours, for a thousand lifetimes

by HereComeDatBoi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Keith (Voltron), Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff, Galra Lance (Voltron), Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Love at First Sight, M/M, Reincarnation, Temporary Character Death, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-01-05 00:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18354788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereComeDatBoi/pseuds/HereComeDatBoi
Summary: It's during their third year at the Garrison, watching Lance McClain imitate Iverson so perfectly that even Shiro starts laughing, that Keith begins to feel like he's seen this all happen before.---reverse!galtean AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for @falsechaos on tumblr!

It’s at Melenor’s birthday feast that Keith first sees him. A slender Galra soldier, bouncing from foot to foot on the dance floor and yammering in the Emperor’s ear until Zarkon groans and puts his face in his hands.

He’s never seen such a strange-looking picture, Keith thinks. Zarkon, leader of the rigid Galra, laughing and scolding like an uncle at a low-ranking foot soldier who looks a bit (actually, a lot) like an excited baby yelmor.

“Who’s that?” he asks his partner, a fresh-faced sentry from Daibazaal with cheeks flushed mauve from dancing. “That officer, next to the emperor?”

“Oh, him?” she answers. “He’s one of the fresh recruits from the Westlands. Lance, I think his name is.”

“How is he...the Emperor, how―”

The girl burst into laughter. “It’s just a way of his, you know? His Majesty never used to fraternize with the soldiers, and the first thing Lance did when he enlisted was fall out of formation because a beetle got into his shoe and knock the Emperor off his feet.”

Alfor would have laughed at such a thing, Keith knows, but certainly not the emperor he met after the first few years of the alliance. Maybe peacetime suits Zarkon better than he lets on.

He changes partners a few more times after that, but for some odd reason his eyes don’t stray from the Galra soldier―Lance, he remembers, _Lance_ ―sticking to his liege like a burr, sampling pastries as they float by and smiling like the sun at every poor sod that passes him.

Keith never gets close enough to be on the receiving end of that grin himself, that night.

Much later in the evening, when he’s curled up alone in his bed with the taste of juniberry nunvill still sharp and fresh on his lips, he thinks of dark lips and bright eyes and wonders why he feels disappointed.

*    *    *

They meet officially six years later, after Alfor gets underway with his new military project. Building warships out of some kind of extraterrestrial ore, Coran said, though like most alchemical subjects the intricacies of the thing completely flew over Keith’s head.

Zarkon arrives in the capital on a sunny Leta’s day, bringing a small group of officers for escort and lunching with the king and queen before going down into the alchemy chambers to see what Alfor’s been working on. His entourage mills around waiting in the entrance hall where Keith stands guard before noon, and when one screams in glee at the sight of a shapeshifting toddler Keith remembers a ballroom, laughter like great golden bells and eyes like watered sapphires―

“You’re Lance,” he says unthinkingly, grip going loose on his spear. “Aren’t you?”

The soldier tilts his head in confusion. “Have we met?”

“No,” Keith admits. “But I think I saw you briefly, a few years ago―you were with the Emperor at her Majesty’s birthday feast once, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” says Lance, face clearing―and there it is, a smile so frank and open that Keith forgets to breathe. “I was too shy to go dancing that day, though. The emperor was feeling a bit down, so I stayed close to cheer him up a little.”

“Is that a thing you do?” he wonders. “Just casually cheer up Emperors when they’re down?”

“Oh, definitely. Zarkon’s not nearly as bad-tempered as my Mama, so it was pretty easy. I just had to make sure to save my jokes until after dinner.”

Keith laughs. It’s such an unfamiliar sound that he stops short in surprise, clapping a hand over his own mouth as Lance looks on in confusion.

“Are Alteans not allowed to laugh?”

“I’m on the more surly side, myself,” he deadpans. “You’ve initiated a character change, Officer.”

“How dreadful!” gasps Lance, pressing a fist to his heart. “However shall you go on, Sir―er, what’s your name again?”

“I never gave it to you,” says Keith, amused. “But it’s Keith, for future reference. Keith of the house of Auren.”

“First of the name?” Lance lifts an eyebrow.

“As it happens, yes.”

“That’s nobility, isn’t it?” questions the Galra. “Are social systems different in Altea, or…”

“You mean why I’m a knight?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I don’t know,” Keith shrugs. “Why are you a foot soldier?”

“Sisters and brothers to feed at home,” says Lance easily. “Mama can’t handle everything on her own, and I’m the oldest, you know? It was time for me to start helping out, so I joined the army.”

He hadn’t mentioned a father, Keith notices. He thinks of his own _atar’s_ grave somewhere on Nalquond and his mother’s weary hands, and wonders―

“He died,” murmurs Lance, shaking him out of his trance. “During the war, if you were going to ask.”

“So...so did mine. Around thirty years ago, in the Black Siege on Nalquond.”

“Never gets easier, huh?”

“Never.” Keith agrees softly. “But it gets easier to remember. At least everyone says so.”

It’s at that moment that Zarkon reappears with Alfor, looking as lightheaded as Keith feels in that instant―there’s something uncertain in his walk, _dazed,_ and though he can’t imagine why Keith feels his own face flame crimson as Lance reaches out for his hand.

“Well, duty calls,” he chirps, fixing Keith with a beaming smile ( _twice was far, far too much for one morning)_ and tucking a transmitter chip into his palm. “But I think I’d like to see you again. Hit me up, won’t you?”

Keith doesn’t lose a second. He reaches up and smacks Lance full on the breastplate, making a dull sound halfway between a drum and someone falling down the stairs.

“Hey! What the quiznack was that for?”

“You _told_ me to hit you up,” says Keith, confused. “Is that not what you wanted?”

“...What? Oh, no. It isn’t. Idioms never translate well, no matter where we go,” Lance mourns, poking the little translation device implanted just under the skin of his neck. “No, I meant for you to call me. My communication codes are in there.”

“You, uh, sure,” stammers the Altean. “Uh, bye?”

“I’m going to be coming back next month, when his Majesty checks in on the project again!” Lance hollers, running off down the hall to catch up with Zarkon. “You’ll be here then, right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, attaching himself to Zarkon’s side the second he walks out the door and chattering about the shapeshifting baby without giving his liege to get a word in edgewise―most improper conduct for _anyone,_ let alone a lowly foot soldier, but the emperor doesn’t seem to mind. He turns back to nod at Alfor and the Queen, and then blushes like the dawn as he waves goodbye to the alchemist standing beside them.

“I’ll be here,” Keith murmurs, joining the rest of the guards in a salute as he tucks the chip into his pocket. It’s warm from being in Lance’s girdle, smooth and round like a piece of slate, and though it’s only the size of a fingernail Keith feels the pull of the weight of it―the proof that Lance had been there, _seen_ him, touched his hand.

He closes his eyes and thinks again of dancing, pastries, laughter.

_Lance._

“I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting.”

*    *    *

He drinks a flask of juniberry wine before he goes to bed that night, and dreams only pleasant dreams.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith and Lance move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, what can I say except better late than never? *screams*

“So how  _ did  _ you end up working in King Alfor’s guard?” Lance asks him one wintry morning, over a cup of hot mulled wine shared in a corner of the palace kitchens. They’ve been friends for a year now, meeting up every other month or so when Zarkon comes round to Altea to see how Alfor’s newest projects are going (and also to flirt with Alfor’s head researcher, Honerva, though no one but Lance himself is supposed to know about it).

“I didn’t really know what to do after I finished my schooling,” Keith confesses. “And there wasn’t much  _ thought  _ involved in the guard, so I just went for it. It’s mostly a ceremonial position these days anyway. I’ve only seen combat twice, and even that was just against some of those space pirates that go around trying to colonize planets with nobody to back them up.”

“Must be nice,” sighs the younger man, reaching for a poppyseed biscuit and snapping it in half between his sharp front teeth. “To not have to do much, and not have to worry every time you set foot in a cruiser.”

Keith bites his tongue. “I’m sure it’s much more honorable to—”

“Relax, mullet. I was just wondering what it could have been like, if Daibazaal hadn’t made so many enemies,” says Lance pensively. “We get attacked on our state tours by people whose ancestors were wronged by ours years and years ago, and by the time someone comes around to settle the score we don’t even know what we’ve done. It’s not the best, but we— _ I  _ try to make things right.”

“You?” wonders Keith, lifting his eyebrows. “What could you do all by yourself?”

“I try to persuade his Majesty that he should make reparations when he can, as a gesture of good faith,” Lance mumbles. “No one really knows why he listens to me, or why he keeps me around, but he says I have a good head on my shoulders. He never thinks about mending old wrongs by himself, though. I have to tell him.”

“Well, he’s right to trust you,” Keith says firmly. “You’re a good man, Lance. He’s lucky to have you around, and so am I.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I  _ know  _ so.”

* * *

Honerva accepts Zarkon’s hand in marriage ten years later, and the two have a spectacular wedding on Daibazal with all the grandeur of a Galran ceremony and all the fun of an Altean one. Alfor ends up drinking himself tipsy on century-matured nunvill, and Coran promenades onto the dance floor with Queen Melenor halfway through the reception to dazzle the assembly with an old-fashioned Highland polka—so fast and vigorous that Melenor’s red skirts whirl this way and that like a flower tossed in the wind, or a fiery pinwheel set alight and thrown from the top of the castle. Alfor jumps in to rescue her about fifteen minutes of it, and in his inebriated state the best the poor man can manage is a tender waltz that involves a whole host of soul-searching looks and a kiss every second or so. The new bride and groom join them just a moment later, and for a second everything is perfect—Keith can almost forget that their two peoples ever took up arms against one another at all,  no matter how long ago it might have happened. 

“Hello, soldier,” comes a familiar voice at Keith’s left; he’s standing in his chosen corner again, nursing a crystal goblet filled with juniberry wine and gazing out over the crowd with a pensive light in his face. “You didn’t come to see me after the wedding procession like you promised.”

“I knew you would come to me,” Keith laughs, cheeks flushing pink as Lance’s broad arms slip around his waist. “Maybe I just wanted you to spare me the trouble.”

“Is that spear getting too heavy for you?” teases Lance, pecking the top of his head and grinning as Keith’s face passes red and turns magenta. Neither of them have put a name on this new aspect of their relationship, though there’s been more than enough time for it; they grew into each other, somehow, and they’re both pretty sure they haven’t finished getting wherever they’re going just yet. “That’s why you couldn’t come over to my side of the ballroom, wasn’t it?”

“Mm, lift it and find out.” Keith holds the weapon up to him and shrieks with glee as Lance swears and almost falls over—the thing is made of heavy platinum with a head of pure white diamond, and it’s a tribute to how diligently the King’s guard trains that they can heft the ceremonial spears at all. “You’re not supposed to be able to lift it,  _ il’yashe, _ ” he chuckles, taking it back and pulling Lance upright. “Even getting the chance to hold a  _ nayza  _ is a mark of great honor at home.”

“But I’m a soldier too,” Lance complains, puffing out his chest and pouting as Keith leans up to kiss him. “What do I have to do to get strong enough for one of those?”

“Join the Altean guard and find out.” He’s well aware of what exactly he’s suggesting, and he knows that  _ Lance  _ knows too, especially when his bright blue eyes light up and shine in that beautiful, beautiful way—like water and sapphires glowing together under the midmorning sun, just like they did on the day Keith first met him seventeen years ago. “Give it a decade or three, and you’ll be swinging them around just as easily as General Hira does.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the younger man muses, rapping the flat side of the diamond spearhead with his knuckles and glancing over at Zarkon. “Can’t miss the chance to show you up with a pretty lance, after all, can I?”

“We’ll see how much showing-up you do after you actually  _ show  _ up,” Keith sniffs. “Don’t let me down, Officer.”

And then Lance looks down and smiles at him with the warmth of a thousand sparklers, setting Keith’s very soul alight like fireworks filling the sky. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr at @datboicomehere!


End file.
